


Penance

by itzteegan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anders is the Inquisitor, Do not read if you favour Templars, Eventual Romance, Loghain is the Warden, Mage (Dragon Age) Rights, Mage friendly, Mage rights are human rights, Other, Pairings TBD, Romance TBD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21946468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: Anders only went to the Conclave in order to offer himself up in the hopes his existence would no longer hamper the mages in their pursuit of freedom. He didn't anticipate being thrown into the heart of yet another conflict, but he does tend to have a nose for trouble ...
Comments: 29
Kudos: 46





	1. Brilliant ideas, and all they're worth

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. "You have other WIP fics that desperately need to be updated, why are you doing this?"
> 
> Honestly, I have no idea.
> 
> So, this was one of the projects I was working on for NaNoWriMo. I have about 15k written *so far* but obviously there is a lot of ground to cover, so bear with me.
> 
> ALSO ... I do fully intend to include a romance and sexy times (because I'm me and I can't resist), however I've been going over so many possibilities for who Anders should romance, I officially have no idea and have decided to just post anyway and keep writing and figure it will come to me as the story develops. I know where I'm going with this *in general* and I have major plot points ironed down, it's just that one little detail that keeps sticking out that has actually delayed me posting this until I decided ... fuck it, I'll add in the pairing tags later.
> 
> With all that being said (if you've read it, that is), enjoy!

Now _this_ had been a bad idea.

Really, Anders should have known it wouldn’t have gone smoothly. Nothing ever did. He’d been in hiding since Kirkwall, studiously avoiding Templars and mercenaries and bounty hunters alike, watching in the shadows as the mage rebellion finally took hold. He hadn’t wanted it to start the way he had, he had wanted to do it another way. But Elthina’s continued road blocks at every turn insured that his pleas reached only deaf ears, and in the end he felt desperate, backed into a corner with only two choices: cower and admit defeat, or drastic action to spur the other mages to fight for themselves. And even if he hadn’t wanted to take such measures, Justice would have spurred him on regardless. Still, despite such encouragement, he’d made his decision, and he lived with it.

Hawke was the first to offer him a chance at redemption, a road that took him not unto death as he had expected, but toward a new life. It was this new life that he’d stumbled in, trying to figure out where he fit in a world where his actions caused the chaos and anarchy that now plagued the lands. He hadn’t even expected to be alive to see this, and it pained him that the Templars and the Chantry fought so hard against needed change, but he supposed if anything, this was part of his penance, to see even more of the destruction he’d wrought and be powerless to fight against it. Powerless because he was enough of a divisive figure without trying to head the rebel mages. He would have, had they floundered, but Fiona had stepped up and lead where he could not, and he was secretly grateful. Not just because they now had a leader, one that wasn’t associated with blowing up a damn Chantry, but also because he wouldn’t have to take charge. He … wasn’t exactly leadership material. Being a leader meant maintaining some level of status quo, and Anders hated that sort of thing. Instead, he’d melted into obscurity, or at least as much as he could in the wake of the rebellion.

It had gotten worse, however, so much worse than he’d even wanted, and so it was with a great reluctance that he’d journeyed to the Conclave, intent on offering himself up as if he was some sort of sacrificial lamb. He didn’t relish the idea of being executed, but if it would take away enough contention so that the mages could be left in peace while they forged their own freedom, then he would gladly take that. He’d already been prepared to die by Hawke’s hand when he’d blown up the Chantry. Really, what difference was this? The idea of sacrifice had been pounded into him thanks to the Grey Wardens, as loathe as he was to admit, and for the price of mage freedom everywhere in Thedas the Chantry exerted their control … well, he couldn’t deny it was a good deal.

And so he’d gone to Ferelden, cautiously making his way to Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where Divine Justinia was holding this Conclave. He arrived cloaked and in secrecy, unwilling to simply be captured. No, if he was to be put to the sword, it needed to mean something. He needed to address the Divine, the representatives of the Templars and Mages each, try to intercede in some way and try not to fuck things up even more than they already were. He had to try, at least.

That … had not exactly worked out.

Anders couldn’t quite remember what happened, exactly. And what he did remember was still hazy. He recalled arriving in Haven, making his way up to the Temple, skirting around camps of Mages and Templars alike. Justice had been whispering in his ear, trying to encourage him to lash out at the ones he knew had been in the wrong. But he’d resisted and all those he passed remained unscathed as he continued his path. Once he got to the Temple, however … that memory was much more nebulous. He remembered the coolness of the door as he pushed it open, the echo of his footsteps as he walked the stone halls, the smell of fires burning in braziers, some scented with incense, others simply left for light. Beyond that, however, he knew no more, as if it was a dream that he struggled to remember, to try to piece together. Because it wasn’t a dream, it was very real, as if the iron shackles around his wrist wasn’t a dead giveaway to that fact.

His left hand flared in pain, and he gasped, the searing sharpness driving him further conscious. He became acutely aware of his surroundings, the way his knees ached with how he was kneeling on the floor and how he shivered from the cold. _Definitely still around Haven, then,_ he concluded. It seemed only the heart of the Frostbacks would have been colder, and a shudder ran through his body, though he resisted the urge for his teeth to chatter. For now, at least. If he was kept here much longer, he suspected they would start of their own accord, no matter what he wanted. As he raised his eyes, he internally sighed to see that he was more or less surrounded by soldiers. Because of course. Whatever had happened, he’d been caught, and now his attempt at trying to ease any tension was all for naught. He could have tried to free himself, as Justice whispered in his mind, but considering he had no idea what was going on, where exactly he was, and was without his staff or anything he would need to make a run for it, it would have been a foolhardy escape attempt. Not even when he escaped again and again from the Circle was he as foolish. Running off into the wilderness with nothing but the robes on his back was asking for trouble, and so he stayed kneeling.

Flexing his hand, his gaze drifted to where the pain was emanating, brow furrowing to find a strange mark that was most assuredly not there when he’d entered the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He gnawed absently at the inside of his lip, struggling to remembering something, _anything,_ that might have happened after he entered. Nothing was forthcoming, however. It seemed akin to trying to cipher what might have been written on a slate after being wiped clean, like nothing had even been there to begin with. But that was impossible. Strange marks didn’t just suddenly appear, and with how it seemed to pull and tug and radiate with Fade energy, it seemed that something big was going on. What exactly, he still didn’t know, but it felt like every hair on his body stood on end the more the mark crackled and popped with energy.

The door ahead of him slammed open, and he almost jumped at the sudden noise. As it was, his head snapped up to see who had entered, and while he vaguely recognised Leliana from their brief encounter in Kirkwall, the woman who she stood slightly behind was a mystery to him. Her armour bore the mark of the Chantry, however, and he was immediately suspicious and guarded. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him, her voice full of venom as she said, “How did I know it might be you. Haven’t you done enough, Anders? Did blowing the Chantry up in Kirkwall not satisfy you?” Grabbing hold of his collar, she pulled him up enough to glower directly in his face as she demanded, _“Why?_ Why destroy the Conclave?”

 _Destroy the Conclave …_ his mind raced to try to piece together what she was talking about, but he found himself at a loss. “Destroy? What are you talking about? I came here to offer myself up in the hopes it would give the mage rebellion an edge in the talks.”

 _“Liar!”_ she accused, pushing him back onto the floor. “Everyone who attended is dead, including the Divine, and most of the valley is now laid waste.” Folding her arms, she glared no less as she deadpanned, “I know the Chantry hurt you and those you love. Varric told me as much. But what does this accomplish? What do you get out of this?”

The news she was giving him had him reeling. Everyone was dead? Really? Including Divine Justinia? It just didn’t seem possible. How? What had happened during those blank spots in his memory? “I assure you, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t even remember anything that happened once I entered the Temple. You said … you said it was destroyed?”

“Blown up,” she clarified. “Like a certain Chantry that used to sit in Kirkwall.”

Anders felt the blood drain from his face. Her answer, while it satisfied one question, only created a dozen more. “If the Temple was blown up, how did I survive, then? And what is this?” he asked, holding his left hand up as the strange mark continued to pulse in the palm of his hand.

Leliana stepped forward, finally. “We were hoping you could tell us.”

He shook his head. “It seems we are all in the dark, then.” He paused a moment, feeling the need to add, “I did not come to the Conclave to destroy it or to kill anyone. I fully expected to be detained and executed, but I did want a chance to speak to the Divine and anyone else gathered. I hoped that between my words and my surrender that the mages could seek freedom unhindered by my actions, and that perhaps the Templars might stand down and see reason.” Wincing, he noted, “I don’t know what happened, but it did not come to plan the way I’d hoped.”

The woman who manhandled him looked quite cross, as if she wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not, but after a deep sigh she conceded, “Whatever happened, if Solas is right, we need you.”

Anders had fully expected her to simply draw her sword and run him through, so this was … surprising, to say the least. “Need me? What for?”

“He mentioned that your mark could be the key to sealing the rifts and the Breach. If that is true …” another long-suffering sigh, “… then I cannot allow harm to come to you.”

Anders supposed it was encouraging that he wasn’t going to be immediately executed, but something she said struck him odd. “Rifts? The Breach?”

Reaching down, she hauled him to his feet as she told him, “It would be easier to show you.”

He dutifully followed behind her, stumbling out of the Chantry, legs aching from his time spent kneeling on a cold stone floor. He wiggled his toes, trying to get more feeling back into them so they would function properly. So concentrated was he on tending to his body’s aches and pains, that he nearly missed the tear in the sky entirely. When he finally looked up, however, it was impossible to not see, and he gasped to see how the Fade leaked into the waking world. This … this was bad. Indescribably bad. Anders had no idea who would have done this – how did you even do something like this? And why? – but whoever the culprits, they were foolish beyond all belief. He would have almost been insulted to be considered a suspect if it weren’t for his admittedly suspicious timing on when he showed up. That and his propensity to blow things up when he was so inclined.

 _At least when I did it, there were no tears in the Veil,_ he mused to himself. It may seem like a small detail to non-mages, but to him it made all the difference. He didn’t expect many people to truly understand such a distinction, however, and so he was grateful that he was at least being spared for now, no matter what the reason.

The mark on his hand crackled and popped with energy, sending shooting pains through his arm. He did his best to ignore it as his captor prattled on, “We call it the Breach, it is a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

Anders was still puzzled at that. “An explosion can do that?” In all of his time researching for his more illicit activities – especially when they took a drastic turn – he’d never once stumbled upon a way to tear a hole in the Fade with an explosion. The Veil itself was already thin and tenuous in Kirkwall due to its history. He shuddered to think what might have happened if the explosion at the Conclave had happened there. Would it have still been a hole in the sky? Or would it have rent the city-state apart as it was already so thin? He shook his head, not wanting to think about it.

“This one did,” was all the answer he got. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

The mark chose that point to act up yet again, and it was the oddest and one of the most painful experiences Anders could have said to have endured. White hot pain laced through his arm, spreading like it intended to tear him asunder, and no matter how much he grit his teeth, he couldn’t help the way it made him drop to his knees and clutch his arm to his chest, bound as it was.

His captor knelt in the snow in front of him, her expression eased just a hair. Barely noticeable, except for he now knew well her stony gaze. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads. And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

He huffed out a chuckled. “You actually do need me, then. And I suppose I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?”

Her steeled expression was back. “No, you do not.” Standing, she offered him her hand and he took it, allowing her to help him to his feet. She led him through Haven, where the residents glared and jeered at him. It was to be expected, after all, as even those who didn’t know him by sight surely knew who he was by now. Word would have spread like wildfire upon his appearance no matter how it had happened, and to be at the centre of a spectacle such as this? It was a definite guarantee they knew full well who was being escorted through their midst. Once they made it to the bridge leading out of Haven, however, his captor removed his bonds, and he couldn’t even say he wasn’t surprised because he was. He’d been expecting to be dragged like a dog on a leash to wherever his captor pleased. Instead, she cut the ropes securing his wrists and simply fixed him with a stare that plainly told him to not run. No need for that, Anders wasn’t stupid enough to attempt escape with no supplies and no staff.

As they jogged up the path, he attempted to get some more answers from her, but what she gave him only confused him more. “How did I survive this explosion?”

“They said you … stepped out of a rift. Then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.”

Anders almost stumbled at this particular revelation. He had stepped out of a rift? As in, he’d been in the Fade? Physically? The thought made him feel ill, his stomach roiling as a deep seed of delayed anxiety settled in his gut. Such a thing had not happened for thousands of years, when it was said that Tevinter Magisters entered the Fade, tainted the Golden City, and brought about the Blights. He still wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but one thing was for sure … there was a lot more going on behind the scenes than just an explosion. As a self-proclaimed expert in that knowledge, Anders knew. He knew and he dreaded what it meant, both for him and for Thedas.

It was perhaps halfway to another bridge that his mark acted up again, sending him careening into a snowy bank with the intensity. It felt like something had lit a fire inside him, sending the arcing pains directly up his arms, through the bones and the veins and the nerves themselves. Nothing seemed immune to it as it crawled up his arm, licking a path of agony through his body.

His captor was, as always, by his side, helping him to his feet once more as she commented, “The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

“Oh how lovely,” he huffed sarcastically, jogging beside her as they approached the second bridge. As they set feet on it, however, one of the blasts from the Breach slammed into the bridge with a ferocity that shook the very stones. It undulated in a way that stones definitely were not supposed to before it gave way and suddenly they were both tumbling down onto the frozen stream below.

His breath was momentarily knocked out of him as his ribs hit stone first and then ice, but he recovered quickly enough, standing alongside his captor on the frozen bank. He supposed her armour likely helped cushion the blow, while his scant robes provided no protection whatsoever. Despite that, it seemed he did not sport any injury beyond bruising, and so it seemed they were ready to move on, and they would have had a demon not seen fit to materialise on the ice some feet away. “Stay behind me!” his captor shouted, pulling out her sword and shield, and Anders supposed if she didn’t want him to fight, then he wouldn’t fight.

He soon wasn’t given much of a choice, however, when another demon appeared just beside him, cackling as it was given form in the waking world. Rasping breath rattled through cold rags, piercing eyes searching for a target, finding him, and Anders whirled around, desperate for something, anything. It had been foolish to take him out here without a staff. While he could do magic without it, that meant he sacrificed more mana and became exhausted more readily. A staff helped direct magic so it could be done easier and more frequently, and while he would fight without it if he had to – it wouldn’t be the first time – he was loathe to make do without. Fortunately, it seemed he didn’t have to, as his eyes landed on a staff that had fallen out of a broken crate, likely one that had fallen off of the bridge along with them. He wasn’t sure if that was providence or some sort of luck, but he didn’t question it as he grabbed it and whirled off a few spells in quick succession. He was successful in making each one hit, and the demon whirled around, terrified at being lit on fire. Unfortunately, it started making its way toward his captor, and while he had no love lost for the woman, he sighed as he continued to fling spells at the demon, felling it before it even had the chance to reach her. She dispatched her own directly after, and Anders swept the area, making sure it was clear before he declared, “It is over.”

Well, perhaps he was a bit hasty in that assessment. Seemingly as soon as he declared it, she was pointing her sword at him and demanding, “Drop your weapon, now!”

He couldn’t help the smirk as he leaned on the newly-acquired staff, replying rather calmly, “You know I don’t need a staff to throw spells.”

Her scowl only deepened. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

Anders just couldn’t resist poking the beast, could he? Call it a fault of his, he just had too much fun upsetting those who wanted so desperately to always be in control. He shot back at her, rather logically, “I haven’t used my magic on you yet.”

That did give her pause, and after a moment she sheathed her sword. “That is true. And I cannot expect you to remain defenceless if I cannot adequately protect you.” Though she still frowned, she seemed to accept this new turn as she commented, “After all, you didn’t run when you had the chance.” And, even beyond the basic acceptance, she dug into her pouch and produced some filled glass vials. “Here, take these potions. Maker knows what we will face.”

He was surprised at her charity, but he didn’t question it, tucking them in an otherwise empty pouch on his robe and hefting his new staff as they made their way further into the valley. It wasn’t nearly as powerful as his own, he could tell, and it was ice instead of lightning, but it would do. It was far better than having nothing, and it dispatched the demons well enough, so he supposed that was truly all that mattered. Considering they met several more groups of demons on their journey into the valley, it only reinforced the point that Anders needed a way to fight as well. Not just to defend himself, but to also help. He’d always been quite adept at assisting Hawke and company out of tight spots, and compared to some of their exploits this was a cakewalk.

As they continued on, he started picking up on signs of a fight, of shouts echoing amoungst the hills along with wild Fade energy that seemed to match the mark on his hand. His hair felt like it stood on end as they made their way up a ruined pathway, the stones in the steps weathered and smooth beneath his feet, making him doubly mindful of his footing so he wouldn’t slip. As if on cue, his captor told him, “We’re getting close to a rift, you can hear the fighting.”

“Who’s fighting?”

She shook her head, apparently unsure and unwilling to guess. “We’ll see soon enough. They will need our help.”

And so they charged up the hill, sword and staff at the ready, bursting onto the scene that almost had Anders laughing even as he shot off spells. For there was no mistaking the stout Dwarf with the crossbow who wore more hair on his chest than his face, though it didn’t seem like Varric saw him just yet, too preoccupied with the demons in front of him to worry about much else. With their added force, however, they were all quickly defeated, but before he could greet his friend, an Elven mage grabbed his hand – the one with the mark – and shouted, “Quickly, before more come through!”

With that, he held Anders' hand up, pointed toward the formed rift, and with it Anders felt a strange, tugging sensation in his arm. It wasn’t … painful, per se, though it wasn’t exactly comfortable. But he soon recognised that the rift seemed to positively hum with a certain frequency of energy, and the mark on his hand was trying to attune to that same frequency. With focus, he was able to coalesce the vibration in his hand until it was on par with that of the rift, and once it was, he yanked his hand back, closing it as if he was pulling a needle and thread through the Veil. “Amazing,” he marvelled, looking between his hand and where the rift had once been, the Veil now healed as if it had never been there. Never before had he ever heard or read anything like this, and it only served to deepen the mystery of who was behind all of this and what their motivations had been.

He didn’t get to muse on it too long, however, as a rather familiar voice had him smirking even before he turned around. “Oh, Blondie, what mess have you gotten yourself into this time?”


	2. Reunions & Resolve

His smirk deepened as he turned around, leaning on his staff as he remarked, “I could say the same for you, you know.”

Varric wasn’t about to let him go so easily, however. “Yeah, well I’m not wanted by most of Thedas, so …”

His captor cleared her throat as she stepped forward, “Gentlemen, can we continue this another time, perhaps?” Fixing the Dwarven rogue with a stare, she told him, “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but …”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

She turned with a disgusted noise, and Anders filed away that little bit of information in his head. He still didn’t have a name to put with her, but he knew now she was a Seeker. Not exactly someone he would have chosen to hang around, but at least she wasn’t an actual Templar, he supposed. Justice was blessedly quiet for the time being, and for that he was grateful as he had a burgeoning headache from all of the information that had been thrown at him since he’d regained consciousness in Haven.

The Elven mage chose that moment to introduce himself. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

Varric snorted. “What he means is, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’.”

Now that was interesting, and he nodded toward his fellow mage as he said, “Then I owe you my thanks. Do you know what it is? And how it came to be on me?”

Solas offered him a sad smile. “That I do not, I saved you only by guess and conjecture.” Turning to the Seeker, he advised, “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, however I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power, no matter how infamous they may be.”

_Ah, now there’s a name. Finally._

The newly-named Seeker frowned, but nodded as she accepted his assessment. He was glad that he at least had who appeared to be a knowledgeable mage to back up his story. It wasn’t surprising at all that she seemed reluctant to believe him, but he was telling the truth. While he had lied to Hawke, it was to protect her, and when he blew up the Chantry he immediately admitted what he’d done and sat and waited for her to draw her staff blade across his throat. At least he was honest about what kind of monster he could be, he’d thought. But this Cassandra didn’t have the benefit of knowing him as well as Lyanna had, though with this Solas’ report, perhaps that could change. _Maybe._

Anders didn’t hold out hope for much these days as it was.

Acutely aware of the danger still around him, he cleared his throat. “So I closed the rift. What now?”

That seemed to help shake them out of their post-battle stupor. “Now we go meet Leliana. We must get to the forward camp, and quickly. Here,” she motioned off the path, “down the bank. The road ahead is blocked.”

They had to battle several more groups of demons, their numbers seeming to increase the longer they were in the valley. Perhaps it was the Breach growing wider, or maybe they had simply begun to naturally draw towards each other, but whatever the reason, they dispatched them all the same. Even just flinging magic at them was tiring after a while, and as they trudged up a hill, Varric chose that moment to ask, “So, Blondie, please tell me you’re innocent this time.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Blow up one thing, people assume it’s you every time.” After another huffing breath, he added, “No, I did not blow up the Conclave. I actually barely remember a thing after I set foot in the Temple.”

“You told me you didn’t remember anything at all,” Cassandra chimed in, her voice low and dangerous.

“Nothing of substance,” Anders amended. “I didn’t think information like the echo of my own footsteps or the few braziers I passed while walking down hallways was important, because it isn’t. It’s meaningless. Like this conversation.” Justice was building in him, expanding in his chest, leaking over into his words. Turning the sass into sharp barbs to poke at those around him. He clenched his hand around his staff, trying to stave him off, but the spirit couldn’t help but throw out a parting sentiment, “Of course, knowing those associated with the Chantry, perhaps useless information was exactly what you sought. My apologies for withholding it. Perhaps you would like to know of my eating habits the day before? The consistency of my bowel movements? Would that be sufficient for you, _Seeker?”_

Her voice was cold and dangerously calm as she simply replied, “No, that will not be necessary.”

Anders gritted his teeth, head pounding in sync with his footsteps. As much as he was distrustful of anyone from the Chantry, that outburst of rudeness was not entirely like him. The sass perhaps, but the venom behind his words was wholly that of Justice. He had tried to reign him in, but as quiet as he’d been since this whole ordeal began, it seemed he was not content to simply stand in the background forever. _Justice, please, work with me. If it’s true that I’m the only one that can repair the Breach, we will need to survive long enough for me to do so._

His ears buzzed as he heard the strong, ringing voice of Justice clearly in his head, as even though the voice wasn’t physical, his body still reacted as if it was hearing him speak outside of it. _You would have me stand aside, remand my righteous duty? For what? So some supposed Seeker of Truth can best you, put you in chains and ship you to a Chantry when this is done? No, you are not weak, Anders. We will show them._

If he could have without seeming out of his mind, he would have huffed and rolled his eyes in exasperation. _This isn’t about being weak or strong, there are bigger things going on, here, more than what appears. Just let me figure it out, please._

Justice did not seem particularly happy with that prospect, but Anders felt his chest loosen as the spirit retreated nonetheless. _Fine. But know that I will not wait in the shadows forever. You know this. You’ve always known this._

He didn’t even bother with a response, for one because it would have been useless and repetitive, but for two – and most importantly at the moment – they were ascending a hill and the now tell-tale tingle in his hand told him there was another rift nearby … which meant more demons. _Lovely._

By some stroke of luck, most of the demons congregating at the rift were mere wraiths, and those that weren’t were easy enough to dispatch between both them and the guards at the gate. And, just like before, when all the demons were defeated, Anders held up his hand toward the rift itself, feeling the unique vibration pulsing through it and through the mark on his hand, concentrating as he brought them both into harmony before he pulled back and snapped it shut. He felt he could breathe a sigh of relief that the first hadn’t been a fluke, that it seemed this really could work. And if it worked on the smaller rifts, surely it would work on the Breach … right?

Solas approached him, seemingly pleased as he commented, “Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

Anders snorted. He wanted to toss a snarky comment his way, but he was growing tired and his headache was getting worse by the minute. He wasn’t sure if it was the result of something that happened in the Temple, from being in the Fade, part of his imprisonment in Haven, or even just having the damn mark on his hand, but he desperately wanted to just lie down. And since he knew he couldn’t, that there was a lot more to do before he would get a chance to rest, that fact made him feel even more drained. He tried a little subtle healing magic on himself as they entered the camp through the gate, but it only seemed to take the barest edge off. He supposed he could use more mana and try again, but he doubted it would make that much of a difference and would only leave him depleted. He did pick up a couple of healing potions sitting unattended in a box near the entrance, figuring that even with his healing magic, it was better safe than sorry. Mana could get depleted easily, used up in other needed spells, and it was far easier to toss a teammate a health potion than to wait for mana to build back up in order to revive them with.

As they made their way deeper into the makeshift camp, he saw Leliana deep in a heated conversation with a Chancellor. That didn’t seem to bode well, but he sighed and shifted his staff as he continued forward all the same. Said Chancellor seemed to notice them all at once as he exclaimed, “Ah, here they come.”

“You made it!” Leliana stepped around the table, and if he wasn’t mistaken, that seemed to be a look of relief on her face as she attempted to introduce them. “Chancellor Roderick, this is …”

“I know who he is,” he interrupted, eyes sharp as they bored into Anders. He straightened himself just a little more, shoulders thrown back in an attempt at giving off authority as he proclaimed, “As Grand chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeux to face execution.”

_Oh goodie, this is going to be fun._

Despite whatever she may have felt about him, Cassandra was outright indignant. “Order me? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a _thug,”_ Roderick threw back at her, “but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

Anders suppressed a smirk. If the man hadn’t been connected with the Chantry and also not just tried to order him taken away for execution, he would have admired him for standing up to a Seeker. Alas, such details made a difference, and he could only appreciate his words on the surface and not any more than that.

Leliana coolly shot back at him, “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.”

Holding up his hands in frustration, he exclaimed, “Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement an obey _her_ orders on the matter!”

While that was all well and good, that didn’t help in the here and now. A Divine Election could take months, was he really supposed to wait in a cell that whole time? Would he even make it that long with how the mark was acting? And what about the Breach in the sky, were they just supposed to sit on their thumbs and wait for it to swallow the world while bureaucrats bumbled about to ensure things were proceeding in a proper order? He could have laughed outright. So what were they supposed to do, then? He wondered if the Chancellor could even think outside the narrow rules that the Chantry imposed on his life.

Speaking up for the first time since they entered the camp, Anders sarcastically observed, “So none of you are actually in charge here? Brilliant.”

Roderick didn’t appreciate that, but Anders found he didn’t care. “You _killed_ everyone in charge!” Huffing and shaking his head, he threw up his hands as his eyes glanced over the maps on the table in front of him. They detailed troop movements and positions, obviously indicative of the situation in the valley, and from what Anders saw … it did not seem good. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

Cassandra was like a mabari with a bone, and for that he would give her credit because if not for her determination, it seemed like nothing might be achieved. “We can stop this before it’s too late.”

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the Temple, and this is the quickest route,” she insisted, pointing out a direct line between the camp and the Temple of Sacred Ashes … or, rather, what was left of it.

“But not the safest,” Leliana chimed in. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

Everyone’s eyes drifted up to take in the peak behind them, cold and snow-driven. Cassandra didn’t seemed to like the prospect, however, as she replied, “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It is too risky.”

Roderick didn’t seem to want to do anything at all, however, as he interjected with, “Listen to me, abandon this now before more lives are lost!”

Before anyone else could add anything, the Breach seemed to expand once more, belching out more pockets of demons and causing the mark on his hand to vibrate and tremble with the intensity. It wasn’t quite as bad as the times it had happened before, or perhaps Anders was just growing used to the pain, as he simply stood there and breathed deeply, observing almost as if he was outside his own body until the pain and strange sensations subsided, like a hot poker making its retreat after being slid inside his arm.

Looking up, everyone’s eyes were on him, throwing him looks that ranged from cautious to concerned to downright judging. Anders gripped his staff tightly, feeling a wave of dizziness overcome him and needing the anchor such a familiar object provided, even if it wasn’t his own. His headache returned tenfold, blood pounding so loud in his ears he barely heard Cassandra ask him, “How do you think we should proceed?”

Between the headache and being utterly dumbfounded that he was actually being asked for his opinion on something, it took him a moment to even process the question and understand what she was asking, whether they should take the direct route or the mountain pass. He almost wanted to laugh for the fact that a prisoner was being asked his opinion, but it was getting harder and harder to focus and Justice began pressing back into the foreground once more. He heard his own voice take on a slight edge as he replied, “I say we charge. I won’t survive long enough for your trial. Whatever happens, it happens now.”

Anders could already feel the mark starting to tear him asunder, trying to consume him and swallow him whole. Between that and Justice, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to live, but he knew he had to at least try to seal the Breach before he gave up the ghost. Perhaps, if he could at least survive long enough to do that, then that would ease the guilt of everything he’d done in the past. That was his hope, at least, as the group set off on the path that would take them directly to the Temple and where this whole thing had begun.


	3. Recounting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, this has been written since literally November but ... I'm lazy, I guess. Plus I've been trying to finish my fic for the Adoribull Reverse Bang (which I finally did) and since that's done, I figured I'd post updates for both this fic and the Inquisitor Rutherford fic.
> 
> Also, since I was writing both alt-Inquisitor fics at the same time, I didn't want to basically write the same sequence for both of them, so I approached this a little differently than that one.

Groaning, it took Anders far longer to wake than he would have liked. He coughed softly, turning over in the bed, blankets tangling around his waist and legs. He blinked once, twice before the world slowly started to come into focus … not that it did him much good because he had no idea where he was. It seemed to be a small cabin, little more than a room with a fireplace, and a gentle fire radiated heat sufficiently to keep him warm from the cold that tried to seep in from the outside. Everything was blessedly quiet, and his headache had calmed until it seemed nothing more than a dull ache behind his temples. Even still, it was far easier to contend with that than the pounding it had been before.

Before …

Everything suddenly came rushing back to him and he sat up so quickly, his head spun and he had to close his eyes and breathe deeply to steady himself once more.

_The path had been short, as Cassandra had promised. They encountered a small encampment before the field of battle, but it was only a short respite before they were thrown into the thick of the fighting. More demons, bigger and stronger than the ones they’d encountered on their journey through the valley, but no matter their size or their strength, they all fell the same. There was an open rift to contend with, and once its waves of demons were defeated, he closed it with an efficiency that he wasn’t sure he felt comfortable having. A trickle of blood leaked out of his nose, and he quickly brushed it away, taking a swig of a healing potion to stem the nosebleed before it fully started. His head was screaming at him, his heart racing, and he knew that if something didn’t give soon, his body would. The strain the mark was making on him was palpable, so much so that he almost didn’t recognise the former Kirkwall Templar standing in front of him until he addressed him._

_Wide-eyed, it seemed like he scarcely believed it was him as he murmured, “Anders? Is it … really you?”_

_Chuckling, he leaned on his staff, putting more of his weight on it than before. “Well this has just been a day of unexpected reunions, hasn’t it?”_

_Cullen eyed him with a cautious glare. “I had heard rumours of you being here but I didn’t realise …” shaking his head, he changed course and said instead, “… it doesn’t matter. So long as we have the means to close the Breach, that is most important.”_

_“Ha! Someone who talks sense!” Anders exclaimed, only halfway sarcastic as he turned to Cassandra. “I was beginning to wonder if anyone here possessed it.” His party members didn’t seem awfully amused at his observation – aside from perhaps Varric – but Anders couldn’t say he particularly cared. He was dying, he could feel it. He only hoped he had enough in him to close this Breach before he did so. One last good deed … perhaps it would be enough to wash away all the blood that stained his ledger._

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he rubbed at his temples before running his fingers through his hair. Either the tie that kept the sides up had come out or someone had removed it, but either way his locks fell long and loose around his face and neck. His feet met the soft fur of a rug, and for that he was grateful as he was sure that despite the fire, the floor would be quite cold. At some point, someone had also divested him of his robes, dressing him plainly in linen trousers and an overshirt. Almost like …

Like a patient. Not a prisoner.

_The first thing that had stood out to Anders was the smell. It was on odd, acrid tang that burned into his nostrils, something he felt he would never forget. The Temple of Sacred Ashes wasn’t simply destroyed, the stone that had made it was practically liquified, the solid remnants stretching upwards as if the molten rock was splashing still. Had he not been in the state he’d been in, he would have admired the handiwork at the very least. It certainly put his own to shame. The bodies that scattered the area quickly brought things into a sharp focus, however, and he wondered if he’d known any of them that had been caught in the blast. It was likely, but then again there was no real way of knowing, was there? All that was left were charred corpses whose own mothers wouldn’t have been able to properly identify._

_Leliana had caught up to them by the time they made it to the centre of the Temple, where the Breach hung directly overhead. Anders wondered how non-mages saw it, perceived it, if it also seemed like a gaping maw leading directly into an abyss or if that was just the Fade leak that he could pick up on. Of course, having Justice thrumming within him also gave him a little extra edge, and he cursed it as it only amplified the image he could see. Gritting his teeth against the pounding in his skull, he told Cassandra, “I assume you have a plan to get me up there …”_

_“No,” Solas interjected. “This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”_

_Anders eyed him carefully, wondering the mage’s reasoning. It seemed sound enough, but … as a fellow mage, even Anders wasn’t sure it would actually work, and yet Solas seemed to speak with a certain confidence. Perhaps that’s just how he was, but something seemed a little off … his headache prevented him from thinking much further however, and he found himself simply nodding as Cassandra said, “Then let’s find a way down. And be careful.”_

_The ruins offered both a direct and indirect path to where the original rift lay, and while Anders was almost tempted to jump over the stone bannister, he also didn’t want to sprain an ankle if he didn’t land quite right. Considering the rubble waiting for him, that chance seemed rather high, and so he lead them on a path that took them around and down._

_He couldn’t miss the song of the red lyrium as they passed by it, and he clenched his hand, the jarring, high-pitched whine not helping his headache in the least. While he’d only heard it twice – once in the ancient thaig in the deep roads, the other during the final confrontation with Meredith – he doubted he would ever forget the sound. He wasn’t the only one to notice, as Varric pointed out, “You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.”_

_“I see it, Varric.”_

_“But what’s it doing here?” the Dwarven rogue pushed._

_Count on Solas to have a potential answer. He seemed to be full of them. “Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple, corrupted it.”_

_Considering that even he and Varric didn’t know what it was, and they were two of the people who had discovered the bloody shite, he was highly skeptical of this explanation. But there didn’t seem to be another reasonable explanation at hand, and so the discussion was dropped, Varric simply adding, “It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”_

_That he could do._

_As they’d arrived at the ground level, a booming voice could be heard, along with a smaller, Orlesian-accented one pleading. Cassandra identified the second as the Divine – Anders took her at her word, since he’d never met her – but the first … it seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. The leaking Fade stretched and undulated around them, taking the form of the last memories of the place, showing both Anders and the Divine along with a shadowy third figure, but none of it rang a bell for him. Not even when his death was called for, and that surprised Anders as he usually remembered those who wanted to kill him. While ordinarily it might have been helpful for the traumatic events to play out in the leaking Fade, since it didn’t provide any insight, didn’t help him recollect anything, and didn’t show who the shadowy figure was, Anders sighed in annoyance. It was a waste of time. He could feel the creeping pain in his arm that meant the mark was expanding, they needed to just get this done and over with._

_Cassandra, of course, wanted to stop and question him yet again. “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she …? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”_

_“I told you, I don’t remember!” Anders growled, settling her with a glare equal to her own._

_Solas actually seemed curious, walking a little closer as he murmured, “Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” Shaking his head, he turned and advised them, “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely.”_

_If it hadn’t seemed like his brain was trying to escape out of his skull, Anders would have wondered yet again at Solas’ proclamation, at just how much was conjecture and how much was certain knowledge. Again, he seemed confident, far more confident than someone who didn’t know how such things worked and was simply experimenting and trying different techniques to see what worked and what didn’t. Perhaps it was the pain he was in prodding his paranoia, but it almost seemed like Solas knew a little too much … but before he could even try to think on it, Leliana’s archers raised their bows, the soldiers drew their swords and stood ready, and everyone was waiting on him to reopen the rift so it could be closed once more. Holding up his hand, he attuned the mark’s vibration to that of the rift, but when it matched, instead of pulling it back, he pushed up, reopening what had been clumsily closed._

_And when he did, that’s when the Pride demon appeared._

He remembered little of the battle, save for throwing up barriers left and right as he flung spells at the thing. He’d encountered pride demons before, but never one so large, and as a result that was what stuck out the most in his memory. He’d taken a few hits from its lightning whips, too slow to put up a barrier for himself, and he did remember well their sting, wincing as he ran a hand over his ribs and arm that had caught the brunt of it. There were still some tender welts remaining, but it had healed up fairly nicely, all things considered. This whole thing could have been far worse. Honestly, he hadn’t even expected to survive closing that rift, considering how painfully his heart had beat in his chest, seeming to keep rhythm with the vibrations coming off of the rift. The last thing he remembered thinking was, _Well, this is it, then._ And after that, nothing but darkness.

Of course, apparently, that wasn’t it.

His musings were interrupted when a slip of an Elven woman stumbled in, dropping what she was carrying as she saw that he was awake. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

The poor thing was actually trembling as she lowered herself to one knee, head tilted downward, and Anders cringed as he attempted to stand, likely for the first time in days if how his legs nearly gave out was any indication. “Don’t worry about it, I only …”

She didn’t seem to hear him as she simply blundered on with, “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

Anders sighed. It seemed there was little he could do at the moment to get through to her. “So where am I, then?”

“You’re back in Haven, my Lord …” She paused for a moment, glancing up as she added, “They say you saved us. The Breach, it stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

_Three days_ … so that’s how long he’d been out. Truth be told, he was actually surprised he’d simply been taken back to Haven and wasn’t on a carriage bound for Val Royeaux. After all, if the Breach was taken care of, there was no reason to protect him from prosecution any longer, and besides the Conclave itself there was the matter of his other crimes … taking a breath, he asked, “So a trial happens now, I suppose?”

The servant seemed confused as she stuttered, “I-I don’t know anything about that.” Rising to her feet, she fumbled with her hands as she commented aloud, “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘at once’.”

_Cassandra._ It seemed the Seeker wanted to keep tabs on him, which was fairly understandable but irked him regardless. Now that this was seemingly over, he wanted to talk with her, with Leliana, to see where he stood and what would happen now. He went to stand again, going slowly, and this time he was successful at maintaining his stance as he asked, “And where is she? I would much desire to speak with her.”

The servant was already backing away, though if it was because she was scared of him or scared of waiting any longer to report to Cassandra, that he couldn’t say. She stammered out an answer for him, at least. “In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once’, she said.”

And with that she was gone, turning heel and practically running out the door before slamming it behind her. A gust of cold wind accompanied it, and Anders shivered for a moment as he looked around, wondering where his damn robes were. After all, it wouldn’t do to face a Seeker and a Lord Chancellor in naught but sleep clothes …


	4. The Founding

Rummaging through the cabin, he couldn’t seem to find anything of his. Not his robes or boots, not even his staff or bag that had likely been confiscated upon his initial capture. He wondered if perhaps they wanted him to go around in sleep clothes or if they were planning on coming to him. But he eventually found a simple brown robe to wrap around himself and some boots that seemed to fit, and so he figured that was good enough. Plain and just barely on this side of appropriate, sure, but if they wanted him to dress more appropriately, they should have given him something more to wear, after all.

At least, that was his reasoning until he opened the door.

Stopping in his tracks, he could only stare as it seemed the whole of Haven stood stock still, gazing at him. Not in hatred as they had before when he’d dutifully followed Cassandra out into the valley, but in awe. Reverence, even. It wasn’t just odd, it was completely unexpected. His whole life, he’d been shrinking back, hiding in shadows, avoiding attention. He’d had to when on the run from the Circle, from the Wardens, from practically the whole world after Kirkwall … so to now have everyone’s focus on him – and especially not in a negative way – Anders wasn’t quite sure what to do. His first instinct was to simply turn around, step back into the cabin, and shut the door, but he felt that would somehow be more awkward. If such a thing was possible, that is.

And so he began his trek through Haven toward the Chantry, having to take it a little slow with the way his body protested such movement. Stray whisperings swirled around him, but for once it wasn’t in his head, it was the people around him. And instead of the negative rumours and gossip he expected – and that he’d deserve – it was surprisingly positive, almost overwhelmingly so. _Well, this is new._

Justice, of course, wasn’t about to let him actually enjoy it, as right when he started to let his guard down, the spirit’s voice rang in his head, _Don’t get used to it. They will use you for as long as they can and then cast you aside. How many times have you seen it happen? How many times have you seen it happen to you? How many times must history repeat itself?_

Anders let out a sigh of irritation as he took the final steps that lead to the Chantry, not even bothering with a rebuttal. Nothing he said would have satisfied the spirit anyway, and so he didn’t even try. Instead, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, steeling himself with a deep breath before he opened the large doors and entered the Chantry.

Even before he made it halfway to the back room, he could hear both Chancellor Roderick and Cassandra yelling. That was how Anders even knew where to go, following the sounds of argument as he trekked further inside.

“Have you gone completely mad?” the Chancellor exclaimed, disbelief and frustration colouring his tone. “He should be taken to Val Royeux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!” That put a slight stutter in Anders’ steps, wary of the situation he might find.

“I do not believe he is guilty,” Cassandra replied, her tone matter-of-fact.

“The prisoner _failed,_ Seeker, the Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, he intended it this way!”

“I do not believe that,” the Seeker’s voice replied, steel-firm, unquestioning.

“That is not for you to decide,” the Chancellor rebutted. “Your duty is to serve the Chantry.” At that, Anders’ stomach flipped, clenching in indecision whether he should keep moving forward or not. He was even less prepared to run than he had been before, and it was this vulnerability that kept him pushing toward the door that muffled their voices. He was backed into a corner at the moment, he had to try all avenues.

Cassandra seemed just as sure of herself as she replied, “My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor, as is yours, too.”

Anders almost chuckled in spite of himself as he reached for the handle and twisted it, the hinges creaking only a little as he slowly walked into the room, immediately wary of the two Templars on either side of the door. The Chancellor fixed him with an icy glare as he commanded them to, “Chain him. I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

He was instantly tense, magic at the ready to defend himself with if needed, but it wasn’t necessary as Cassandra straightened and simply said, “Disregard that, and leave us.”

To his relief, both Templars listened to Cassandra without question, saluting before walking out the open door. He relaxed ever so slightly, though Justice’s warning still rang in his ears. He tugged the robe around him just a little tighter as Roderick looked like he may have a stroke. His face turned as red as a tomato as he simply said, “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

Cassandra was cool, calm, logical. The exact opposite of how she’d been when they’d initially met. He wasn’t sure if he liked this better or not, but at least it didn’t seem like she was willing to simply throw him in chains and toss him to the wolves. “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

Anders had been hoping he had sealed it, but when the Elven servant said stopped the Breach from growing instead of sealed it, he suspected he was not entirely successful. This only confirmed it, and he tried to keep the note of irritation out of his voice as he posited, “Let me guess: you need my help. _Again.”_ It wasn’t that he was opposed to helping, he just was opposed to being drafted into something without his full consent. It seemed that was the theme of his life, from the Circle to the Grey Wardens and now …

Chancellor Roderick, on the other hand, had other ideas. “You have done plenty. Your actions will be taken into account by the new Divine.”

_Oh how encouraging._

“Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face,” Cassandra redirected smoothly.

He almost jumped when it seemed as if Leliana emerged from the shadows. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave, someone Most Holy did not expect,” she said, a grave tone to her voice. “Perhaps they died with the others … or have allies who yet live.” With that last line, she fixed the Chancellor with such an intense stare, it seemed a wonder that the man didn’t spontaneously combust.

“ _I_ am a suspect?” he sputtered indignantly.

“You,” she confirmed. “And many others.”

“But not the prisoner?” Both Roderick and Anders seemed a bit confused about that bit, but the mage wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was the truth, after all. Nice that others were catching up, it seemed.

Cassandra, of all people, stood up for him, and that shocked him perhaps more than what she said. “I heard the voices in the Temple. The Divine called to him for help.”

“So his survival, that thing on his hand … all a coincidence?”

“Providence,” she insisted. “The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”

It was all Anders could do to bite back the bitter laugh that threatened to erupt. If there was a Maker, he surely had a dark sense of humour. “So you’ve changed your mind about me?”

“I was wrong,” she admitted. “Perhaps I still am. I will not, however, pretend you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

“The Breach remains,” Leliana remarked. “And your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

The Chancellor bristled. “This is not for you to decide.” Anders couldn’t help the eye roll at that. Just what did the Chancellor think the Chantry would do, exactly? Make some motion that the Breach shouldn’t exist and it would simply stop doing so? That it would disappear if the faithful simply offered more prayers? He was far out of his league, as were they all, but unlike them, he refused to acknowledge it.

Cassandra slammed a thick book onto the table in front of her, pointing at it as she said, “You know what this is, Chancellor: a writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She stalked toward the Chantry bureaucrat as he cowed away from her, backing up towards the door, her intimidating presence enough to put anyone on edge. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

The Chancellor glared at each of them in turn, his lips set as if he wanted to say something, but he kept silent as he turned and walked out of the room, kicking the door shut as he went. _Good riddance, then._

Leliana traced the edges of the writ with her fingers, as if it was something divinely precious as she said, “This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of Old, find those who will stand against the chaos.” Sighing lightly, she shook her head. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice, we must act now,” Cassandra told her, turning then to Anders as she added, “with you at our side.”

He raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was a question or a declaration. As a rule, he preferred to do his own thing without being drafted into it – freedom being, after all, paramount to him – but with the situation as it stood, he couldn’t deny that he was indeed needed. And if they were willing to work with him of all people, it just showed the desperation of the situation at hand. And so he found himself saying, “When I woke up, I certainly didn’t picture this outcome.”

Leliana was honest. “Neither did we.”

Cassandra faced him, holding out a hand as she implored, honesty ringing in her voice, “Help us fix this before it’s too late.”

He shook her hand, and with that, everything was set in motion. Cullen nailed the notice of the Inquisition on the Chantry door, and they all gathered in what they now termed the war room to discuss what they should do next. At the moment, this Inquisition was fledgling, and they needed to ensure that it would survive long enough to both close the Breach and investigate what happened. Contacts were pooled, letters were written, and they all worked tirelessly well into the evening as they put together this new organisation. There were troops already at hand, formerly of the Chantry, that were loyal to Cassandra and Cullen and would follow them. Scouts, too, that held Leliana in a far higher regard than any other Revered Mother. For now, it was small, but all together they had more going for them than perhaps Chancellor Roderick even thought.

When Anders finally retired to bed that night, he was exhausted. He was still recovering from his ordeal at the Temple, and while the planning hadn’t involved anything particularly strenuous, he knew better than to simply write off the day as menial busywork. As he closed his eyes, he let out a tired sigh, pulling the blankets closer around him, creating a cocoon of warmth as he drifted off into the Fade.

It was that night that the dreams started.


	5. But in dreams ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for not posting this chapter sooner. I had it fully written and ready to go since about December-ish, but in trying to balance other projects and real life things - and then, of course, THE HAPPENING with COVID-19 - I've just been thrown for a loop. So, here we go.
> 
> Also, random factoid, but the title of this chapter was inspired by Howard Shore's "In Dreams" from the Lord of the Rings films. <3 Love Howard Shore.

The nightmares were one of the many, many aspects of being a Grey Warden that he hadn’t been told of. Perhaps not the most egregious of facts, but it one of the quickest to take effect. He remembered well that first night, waking in a cold sweat, eyes wide, panting with imagined exertion. From what the Warden-Commander told him, the dreams weren’t quite as bad as they were during a Blight, but he couldn’t imagine them being much worse. He’d dreamed of dark and dank tunnels, darkspawn roaming, writhing in their own filth, but worst of all was the whispers and the song. They went hand in hand, the whispers the first thing to alert a new Grey Warden that it was about to start, and then after the whispers grew in strength, that’s when the song started. Low and deep, it thrummed in his veins, growing and growing until a high-pitched chime joined in, their dissonant melody haunting his sleep. Only when it was at its frenzied peak, when he thought he was going mad, that’s when he’d jerked awake, afraid and unaware of what had just happened. Fortunately, only the Warden-Commander had been awake at the time, seemingly anticipating the dreams, and it was then he explained to him what he experienced.

He’d had a fairly good relationship with the Warden-Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, partly because he was a fellow mage and partly because he’d scooped him up and saved him from the Templars. But while being a Grey Warden as a simple soldier or rogue was all well and good and honourable, mages were more than just healers and battle support. Many of them were, of course, but the higher-ranking mages got involved in unethical experiments and magics that had Anders’ stomach turning. He was never forced to engage in such things, but the knowledge of it got to him after a time and combined with other factors, he eventually ran away from them, too, getting about as far as Kirkwall before his money ran out. While he now detested the idea of being a Grey Warden any longer, he still appreciated Lothiriel and everything the Elf had done for him.

As he had advised, the nightmares had lessened over time as he adjusted to having the taint in his blood, so much so that he rarely had them any longer. In fact, Anders couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a Warden-related dream, and so when he woke up with a start in his cabin in Haven, drenched in a cold sweat, he knew something was wrong.

He knew because, even though he was awake, he could still hear the whispers.

It was perhaps a couple of hours before dawn, but he couldn’t sleep anymore even if he wanted, and the whispers themselves drove him out of bed. Wrapping himself tightly in a thick wool cloak, he pulled the hood over his head before donning a pair of boots and slipping out the door. Trudging through the light snow, he searched, probing, reaching out to confirm the truth for himself. By the time he’d made his way around the entire perimeter of Haven several times over, taking his time, he’d found what he was looking for, or rather, didn’t find what he was looking for, which was encroaching darkspawn or Grey Wardens. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes as he came to terms with it.

He was hearing the Calling.

Opening his eyes to the glow of the burgeoning dawn, he set his jaw as he felt tears start to gather. It was too early, too soon, and he knew it. It had only been perhaps ten years since he’d undertaken the Joining, and while the timeline didn’t seem to be an exact science and seemed to vary slightly from Warden to Warden, thirty years was the average. Those who served as Wardens during a Blight typically had a shorter time, but he’d only went through the Joining after the Fifth Blight was over. Regardless, there was no reason he should be hearing his own Calling, heralding his death. While he had found peace with the fact that he’d been sure he would have been snatched up and executed at the Conclave, this was vastly different. Instead of an executioner’s axe or the hangman’s noose, death in the Deep Roads was a prospect he truly feared, his nightmares come to life. The only other alternative was to succumb to the taint and become a ghoul, bolstering the darkspawn ranks as he became one of them. Either option was a terrible fate, indeed, and part of his relief at his execution was that he would have to face neither of them.

Taking one last look at the rising sun, he turned heel and made his way back to his cabin. He would have some time, yet, but the metaphorical clock was truly ticking now. Grey Wardens were supposed to serve alongside the Legion of the Dead for a year as a part of their treaty before the Calling truly took hold, but with the Breach still in the sky – and the fact that he was no longer truly associated with them – he wasn’t sure what that meant for him. The Calling itself would still proceed, of course, regardless of his association, but even if he wanted to join the Legion, he couldn’t, not now. Not when there was still a nasty tear in the veil that only he could fix. Perhaps, in fixing it, he would succumb to the magic, and he wouldn’t even have to consider his path afterwards.

For now, though, he had to keep moving forward. And so he drew himself a pitcher of water to wash his face with and attend to his morning ablutions. As he then brushed and tied up his hair, there was a knock at the door, timid and soft, and he almost hadn’t heard it at all. Opening it, he found the same Elven servant from the day before, and he made a point to smile at her, to at least try to put her nervousness at ease.

She held out a package for him. “Harritt told me to deliver this to you, said he’s working on something special for you, but this should do you until he’s finished. Said if there’s any issues with fit to see him straight away.” Anders nodded as he took the package, but before he could even thank her, she bent over and picked up a satchel and a very familiar looking staff. “Also, Lady Nightingale told me to give these back to you.”

His smile grew as he took his pack and staff back. Before she could scurry away this time, however, he asked, “What’s your name?”

She seemed surprised he was even asking, but after a few seconds she recovered and answered, “Rinna, Ser.”

“Rinna,” he repeated. “Thank you, Rinna.”

“O-of course, Ser. Not a problem, Ser,” she stammered before she scuttled away, leaving him standing there holding everything he now owned in the world.

Setting aside his pack and staff for now – neither looked damaged as he did a quick once-over inspection – he opened the package that Rinna had first given him to see what it was. He didn’t know a Harritt, but he was an artificer of some kind as she had indicated by what she said. And since it obviously wasn’t a staff and fit was mentioned, he took it to mean that it was robes of some sort. His guess wasn’t too far off, as it wasn’t robes in the traditional sense, but it did seem rather sturdy and he could feel the buffs and resistances thrumming through it. Along with a new pair of trousers and sturdy boots, he was given a tunic of a lovely green colour and a tan leather vest to go over top of it. It wasn’t overly long – it would come no further than mid-thigh, he wagered, once he’d donned everything – and along with it was a belt to hold potions, spellbooks, and anything a mage might need in battle. Truth be told, he’d only been expecting to get his old robes back, but this did seem like a bit of an upgrade from the threadbare attire he’d been sporting as of late. After all, apostates on the run couldn’t exactly indulge in the latest fashion.

He donned his new clothes, grabbing his old faithful staff and heading out into Haven, intent on meeting and planning with the Inquisition council. This Calling meant that there was no time to dawdle, no room for error, and they pooled all their knowledge and resources, planning all day and well into the night for several days in a row. Poor Leliana wrote so many letters and missives, he feared her hand might permanently cramp, and he offered to alleviate the pains in her wrist and arm as soon as it became apparent. She was not averse to mages, he found, quite the opposite in fact. They’d even had a common friend in the Hero of Ferelden, and he internally breathed a sigh of relief that it seemed he wasn’t utterly alone in this council of sorts. Cassandra and Cullen both had Chantry ties, even if they’d technically cut them, and while Cassandra outwardly seemed indifferent toward mages, Cullen still had obvious reservations. It was in those matters that he was glad to have Leliana on his side, as it were, understanding their plight and that not all apostates were power hungry blood mages.

While tedious, their effort in those early days seemed to pay off. Volunteers for soldiers, scouts, and general workers started to trickle in, wanting to help in any way they could. It didn’t leave Anders much time for sleep, but with how his dreams had been tilting lately, that was probably a good thing. If anyone noticed the growing bags under his eyes and his propensity to wander around at night, they didn’t say anything. In fact, as he walked into the Chantry one morning alongside Cassandra, she seemed more interested in another aspect of his well-being entirely, and while he wasn’t certain if her concern was completely altruistic, he was glad that he was able to avoid talking about the whispers and the song for now.

“Does it trouble you?” she asked, her gaze honed in on the mark on his hand.

“Not really,” he shrugged, attempting to give off an air of nonchalance about the whole thing. While it didn’t outright pain him anymore, it still tingled, thrumming with wild magic that even he had no idea how to handle. Even Justice was of little assistance, despite being a spirit of the Fade itself. It seemed the mark was a truly unique, mysterious happening.

She accepted his explanation as they continued walking side-by-side down the long hallway. “What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed … provided the mark has more power, the same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

To be thoroughly honest, he was surprised that a Seeker of all people had been consulting with an apostate on the matter, but he simply smirked, shoving his suspicious mind to the side for now. “What harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?”

She exhaled, the force amounting to about half a chuckle. “Hold on to that sense of humour,” she chided as they strode onwards. “Fortunately, we do have some ideas on how to proceed,” she mentioned as they entered the war room, Leliana and Cullen on the other side of the table, accompanied by a new woman he’d never seen before. Cassandra didn’t waste a moment as she gestured toward her, “This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

She inclined her head politely at the introduction, a soft smile gracing her smooth face as she said in a heavy Antivan accent, “I’ve heard much, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Anders wasn’t sure what all an ambassador would be needed for in an organisation such as the Inquisition, but he assumed it was something needed nonetheless. All he was really interested in was sealing the Breach once and for all. Straightening himself, he was keenly aware that every other person in the room held a high position, and he was just a lowly apostate, something he ignored at the moment as he simply said, “Cassandra tells me you have a plan.”

Nodding, the Seeker took point as she advised, “I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good …”

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana finished for her. It was a prospect that Anders was definitely not opposed to in the least, though he wasn’t sure if they would accept him or not. The mages of Kirkwall had come to blame him for their status as apostates after he’d blown up the Chantry and assisted Hawke in killing Knight-Commander Meredith. It had been a necessary evil, especially for that particular Circle, but after the shock wore off for most of them, they’d started to turn on him, and so he’d left, wandering Thedas alone, staying one step ahead of the Templars who hunted him even more vigorously now after what he’d done.

Cullen, of course, disagreed, and Anders suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as the former Templar interjected with, “And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well.” It was a prospect that utterly revolted Anders, allying with an organisation that had tortured him and his fellow mages so. He knew that not every single Templar was evil and committed abuse, but enough of them did, and they hadn’t been reigned in either by their fellow Templars or the Chantry, and in his mind – and in Justice’s – silence in the face of abuse was consent. He swallowed hard to get rid of the horrible mental picture he got just at the thought of trying to approach the Templars for assistance. Even if they didn’t inherently have anything against the Inquisition, surely they would reject an alliance outright based on who he was.

Cassandra sighed. “We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark …”

“… might destroy us all,” he interrupted, not willing to give ground in this argument just yet. “Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so …”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana put out, and Anders could have hugged her if he wasn’t certain he just might get a dagger in the ribs for his trouble.

“I was a Templar, I know what they’re capable of,” Cullen insisted.

Josephine, already acting as diplomat, interceded in the argument. “Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and you specifically,” she said, gesturing toward Anders.

The mage was not surprised, snorting as he murmured, “That didn’t take long.”

Continuing, she explained, “Some are calling you – a mage – the Herald of Andraste. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harbouring you.”

Cassandra seemed none too pleased as she commented, “Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt.”

“It limits our options,” Josephine admitted. “Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question.”

Anders was beyond exasperated. So they had a plan, but no way to set it in motion. Lovely. He could practically feel that clock ticking in the back of his mind as he burst out, “They aren’t more concerned about the Breach, the real threat?”

“They do know it’s a threat, they just don’t think we can stop it,” Cullen said somberly.

“The Chantry is telling everyone you’ll make it worse,” Josephine added.

_Wonderful._

Leliana, however, did have a little something up her sleeve, and she approached the table with her proposition. “There is something you can do.” Anders’ ears perked up as she continued, “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

At the mention of a Chantry Mother, Anders was immediately suspicious, Justice roiling in the back of his mind, _They don’t want to talk, they want to destroy you, tear down everything you’ve done. This path is doomed._ Clenching his teeth against the onslaught in his mind, outwardly he clarified, “She’s asked for me? You don’t think that could be an ambush?”

“I doubt it,” she answered, and from both her nonchalant tone and from what Anders knew of her and her support for mages and their freedom, on instinct he wanted to trust her. “From what I know of her, she is a kind soul and not the sort to involve herself in violence. You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

It seemed their course was decided, then, as Cullen chimed in with, “Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you’re there.”

“We need agents to extend our each beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them,” Josephine advised, though Anders wasn’t entirely sure he trusted that assessment. Sure, he was now branded as the Herald of Andraste, but would that really be enough for people to forget his past crimes, his role in setting up the current circumstances of the world? While the mage rebellion would have happened sooner or later, Anders had squarely set them on the path they were on, and it was because of them that the Templars broke from the Chantry, causing the Divine to even call the Conclave in the first place … no mage rebellion, no Templars breaking, no Conclave, no Breach. Even if the mages had rebelled on their own, there was no denying that he was a root cause, and he wondered just how many people would be willing to look past that, if any. While he was needed because of the mark, he wondered if his role in the Inquisition would eventually doom the organisation completely.

Regardless, the rest of them seemed set on this course as a plan, and Cassandra told them all, “In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”

Anders winced at hearing the title, but tried to ignore it for the moment, his gaze falling upon the map in front of him, on Thedas and Ferelden and eventually Redcliffe, near Lake Calenhad. While it wasn’t far away, he felt an unease in his gut about leaving Haven, as if venturing out into the world would remove him from some unseen blanket of safety that the village offered. Truly, it was no more safer or secure, save for perhaps where fighting was rampant, but Haven had been an anchor, security for him, and leaving it now left him nervous. While before, he kept himself constantly on the move, making sure to throw anyone off his scent, he’d felt downright settled in the Ferelden village on the edge of the Frostbacks. But, there was nothing for it. This was necessary, and as the only person who could seal rifts, he couldn’t just stay cooped up in Haven. The only way they were going to stabilise Thedas and seal the Breach was by getting out there and getting their hands dirty.

And their first stop was the Hinterlands.


	6. Fortuitous Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, sorry for how long i've let this linger. that definitely wasn't my intention when i started writing and posting this, but ... shit happened. i'm sorry.

The journey to the Hinterlands, the area outside of Redcliffe, was mostly uneventful, thank the Maker. The biggest amount of trouble they encountered was debris in the road, forcing them to either dismount and clear it or to find another way around. The horse Anders rode had seen better days, but she seemed sturdy enough, at least as far as riding went. She bore his weight easily, while in comparison Cassandra’s horse seemed to be struggling a tad, likely due to the heavy armour the Seeker wore. Varric’s, likewise, lagged, as while the Dwarf was short, he was rather dense. Not fat, far from it, but like most Dwarves he carried a weight even heavier than he looked. Solas’ horse barely seemed like she was carrying anything more than her saddle.

It seemed a relief to most, then, when they reached the Inquisition’s first camp in the region. After dismounting and handing off their horses, they were approached by a Dwarven scout, who greeted them. Or, rather, Anders. “The Herald of Andraste! I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach. People are still a little leery of mages, but you’ll get no back talk here. That’s a promise.”

Anders winced again at hearing the title, wondered briefly if he would ever get used to hearing it. It just seemed so odd, so dissonant to everything he’d been called previously. Such a complete turn from the title of fugitive that he’d held up until so very recently. Instead of being reviled, he was heralded, or at the very least tolerated, something he’d never expected. It was a strange time to be living in indeed.

The scout seemed oblivious to his personal musings as she soldiered on through an introduction. “Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I – all of us here – we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

When Varric spoke up, Anders just knew there would be a little trouble. The Dwarf just couldn’t help himself. “Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

“I can’t say I have. Why?”

Here it comes …

“You’d be Harding in … oh, never mind.”

Cassandra let out a noise of pure disgust as Anders resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Despite his outward reaction, or lack thereof, he quite enjoyed Varric’s puns and quips, and it was one of the things he’d missed about the group of friends that had been forged in Kirkwall. They had come from all different walks, had varying backgrounds, and to look at them from the outside they had nary a reason to all stick together. But they did, and despite any differences they’d made it work. Until Anders had pushed, had gone too far, and then even when they’d all fled the city-state together, they eventually drifted apart, and once again Anders had ended up alone. So as it was, he had to work to suppress his growing smile as he addressed Scout Harding. “So what’s the situation out here in the Hinterlands?”

Once again, everything was right down to business despite the small interruption. Harding straightened her posture ever so slightly as she reported, “We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster. I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet’s herds were the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-Templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he’s even still alive.” A seeming secondary concern from the initial mission that had led them all out there, but an important one. The few horses the Inquisition had managed to secure looked old and weary, and like they may not see too many more winters even if treated well. On their main mission, however, Harding told them, “Mother Giselle’s at the Crossroads helping refugees and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war’s spread there, too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won’t be able to hold out very long. You best get going. No time to lose.”

Well, that settled it, as if it hadn’t been settled already. Fortunately, they were fairly near to the Crossroads, and they didn’t even need the use of their horses to descend the hill that the camp was situated on and make their way up the path. The closer they got, the more fighting they heard, and the more groups of bodies they passed. In one, the body of a lone mage was propped up in the middle of a group of Templars, obviously have well-surpassed his personal limits in defending himself. Further down the path, an enchanter had been stabbed in the back by a rogue whilst trying to fend off others, and further yet there was a grouping of Templars with obvious electrical burns all over their bodies, fried and burned almost beyond recognition. Justice burned within him as the spirit’s voice echoed, Good, they deserved it, and Anders ignored the sentiment as they pressed onward.

As soon as they appeared at the Crossroads, they were immediately caught up in the fighting. “We are not apostates!” Cassandra exclaimed as she fended off a Templar’s attack, bashing him with her shield before burying her sword in a weak spot in their armour underneath the arm.

“I do not think they care, Seeker,” Solas noted, his voice as calm and even as the magic he cast beside Anders. It was a contrast to his own casting style, fast and flashy and aggressive. They were both healers, but their other magics were polar opposites, as was plain to see. Solas laid down mines and froze enemies for Cassandra or Varric or even Anders to take out, while Anders preferred taking the fight to enemies directly, throwing elements at them left and right, overwhelming them with hexes and curses. He fought dirty, as he’d often had to, while Solas actually seemed to operate with a certain serene honour that Anders had never once known for himself. He’d wondered where he had trained, whom he had studied under, but he’d not had the chance to speak to him privately and inquire, and now was certainly no time.

Moving up further into the Crossroads revealed even more enemies, and not just Templars but mages as well. One in particular summoned a ring of elemental mines around himself to deter warriors and assassins from getting close, but mines didn’t stop an elemental barrage, which Anders let loose with a fury. Solas, in contrast, cast a barrier over Cassandra so that when she crossed the mines and activated them, they barely hurt her. And once they were activated, they disappeared entirely, leaving the Seeker free to manoeuvre however she needed to. Once she stood back up, the mage didn’t stand a ghost of a chance, his own barrier cracking and crumbling as she drove her sword through his gut.

A few more waves of Templars and rogue mages later, and they were finally able to stop and catch their breath as newly-instated Inquisition forces moved in to stabilise the area and protect the civilians. Their forces hadn’t escaped unscathed, however, and those who were wounded were shuffled off to healing tents to be tended to. When he asked about Mother Giselle, he was pointed to one of them, and, inclining his head in thanks, Anders made his way to a meeting he wasn’t quite looking forward to, based entirely on his past experience with Revered Mothers. Perhaps that wasn’t fair to this specific one, but he was having a hard time coming up with a reason to personally care.

Said Mother seemed to be talking to a wounded soldier as he approached, her voice low and soothing as she entreated, “There are mages here who can heal your wounds. Lie still.”

“Don’t … let them touch me, Mother. Their magic is …” the soldier choked out, grinding his teeth against the pain that ailed him, and Anders wondered at the irony of an Inquisition soldier being so resistant to being treated by a mage despite the supposed Herald of Andraste  being a mage. And not only any mage at that, but the one who contributed to kickstarting the whole mage rebellion by blowing up a damn Chantry. That mage. Anders internally sighed. Would they be forever cursed to not get anywhere with the people of Thedas? Would they ever be unable to reverse the centuries of propaganda the Chantry had implanted? At times like this, he felt discouraged.

Mother Giselle, however, smoothly redirected with, “Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade. Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering.”

With that, the soldier nodded and laid back on the stretcher, allowing the nearby mage to approach him without further protest. When Mother Giselle stood, Anders couldn’t help the way he raised an eyebrow, surprised at the way she had advocated for the healer. While it was a bit refreshing for him personally to hear, he still felt suspicious as he approached her. “Mother Giselle?”

“I am,” she confirmed, inclining her head in respect. “And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

He snorted. “Not through any choice of mine.”

At that, she chuckled. “We seldom have much say in our fate, I’m sad to say.”

“So you  agree with them?” That definitely seemed strange to Anders. A Revered Mother resisting the call to tow the Chantry line, to not reject - if not outright endorse - a  mage of all people in such a position.

Instead of answering directly, again she deflected with, “I don’t presume to know the Maker’s intentions, for any of us. But I did not ask you to come simply to debate with me.”

This back and forth dance was already beginning to exasperate Anders, and so he asked, “Then why am I here?”

Motioning for him to walk with her, he did so, tamping down his restlessness that was  not helped along by Justice in his head.  This is useless, there are so many people that need help out here, why should we stop for this Mother who wants to dance around questions and dodge saying anything outright? How do we know she’s not playing a game of her own?

He had to take a deep breath to concentrate as she began, just so he could follow along and not be distracted. “I know of the Chantry’s denouncement,” she began, “and I am familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you, some of them are grand standing, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine.” At that, Anders felt his stomach twist in disgust. Just how did they expect to become the new Divine if the Breach wasn’t addressed and taken care of? If it swallowed the world? Being a Divine meant  nothing if there was nothing to be Divine  of . Oblivious to the meaning behind his frown, Mother Giselle continued, “Some are simply terrified. So many good people senselessly taken from us.”

Anders felt his hackles raise, bristling at the thought of senselessly going along with the crowd on a sinking ship simply because seeking out a life boat meant striking out on their own. He could  feel Justice attempting to surface as he shot back, “That’s an excuse? They’re making things worse!”  
  
“ They don’t know that, this is my point.”

“Bullshit,” Anders interrupted. “They  know . They just  ignore . Just like they ignored the abuses we suffered. It’s easy to sweep something uncomfortable under the rug in favour of not dealing with it, but just like with the mages, it will rear its ugly head one of these days, and if nothing is done, then the entire world will be lost!”

Despite his outburst, Mother Giselle seemed undeterred. “That is why you must go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

He almost wanted to laugh. “You want me to appeal to them? They who want me dead perhaps above all?”

Perhaps infuriatingly, she smiled serenely at him. “If I thought you were incapable, I would not have suggested it.”

Anders’ frown deepened. “I highly doubt anyone would actually listen to me.”

Tilting her head ever so slightly, she shot him a pointed look as she explained, “Let me put it this way: you needn’t convince them  all . You just need some of them to …  doubt . Their power is in their unified voice. Take that from them and you’ll receive the time you need.”

This sounded an awful lot like the Game that the Orlesians were forever playing, disregarding the lives and well being of those beneath them in society in favour of their own personal gain. He didn’t like that this seemed to cater to that, but what else was he supposed to do? The Chantry had seen to it that the fledging Inquisition had little in the way of their own voice, and if they wanted to cultivate theirs, they had to cripple their opposition. While Justice would have settled for seeing the whole thing on fire, Anders simply sighed and headed back to the Inquisition camp to send a message to their ambassador, Josephine, who no doubt would need to set up and coordinate a journey to Val Royeaux and who could perhaps give him an idea of what to say. Because for once, words failed him, and he had a feeling that in spite of what he would  want to say to the convening clerics, this needed a far more subtle touch than he personally could command.

Once the letter was written and the raven sent, he watched the bird as it flew off toward Haven, sighing and refocusing. While they were in the Hinterlands, there were things that undoubtedly needed to be taken care of, and that was something he felt far more confident in tackling himself.


End file.
